


War Games

by RPGgirl514



Category: Mulan (1998)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Siblings, Brother-Sister Relationships, F/M, Family, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-22 18:34:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6090235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RPGgirl514/pseuds/RPGgirl514
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mulan is four years old the day her brother is born.</p>
            </blockquote>





	War Games

"The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting."  
Sun Tzu, The Art of War

 

Mulan is four years old the day her brother is born.

It is the earliest memory she can recall with any true clarity.  She remembers her mother pouring tea, then a harsh cry as the teapot slips from her fingers and shatters.  Her wrists curl around her swollen belly like swallows settling in a nest.

“Mama?” Mulan says shrilly.  At her age, one knows only reckless courage or abject fear, with little overlap. “What's happening?”

“Fetch the midwife, Mulan, dear,” her grandmother says, and Mulan does as she’s told. She runs through ankle-deep snow, the icy flakes stinging her cheeks.  She returns with the wizened town midwife, who is even older than her grandmother.

Mulan plays in the kitchen while the three women stay in the bedroom with the door closed.  The shards of clay have been swept away, but the spilled tea will stain the floor forever.  Mulan hears her mother scream, and her dolls fall forgotten from her hands.

“Mama?” she says through the door, pounding her small fist upon it. “Mama!” Mulan starts to cry.

The door opens, but it is Grandmother Fa who emerges. “Mulan,” she says. “Dry your tears. Your father isn't here, so you must be strong for your mama.”

“Is she gonna die?” Mulan asks.

“We must pray to the ancestors,” Grandmother Fa says.

Mulan hates it when grown-ups say one thing and mean another.  She has already learned that a non-answer is as good as a lie.  “No! It's not fair!  I don't want a brother!  I want my Mama!” Mulan kicks the door with each syllable as her rant devolves into wordless sobs.

Grandmother Fa calmly picks her up and carries the wailing girl into her room.

Mulan cries herself out and wakes up from her nap hours later.  She listens carefully.  She hears her mother’s ragged screams and tenses up, but before she can move there is another, unfamiliar cry. She flies out of bed and knocks frantically on the door. It opens under her tiny fist to reveal the midwife.  Mulan rushes to her mother's side and clings to her clammy hand. Fa Li smiles wearily at her daughter.

“Chen Wei, bring him here,” Fa Li says softly.

Mulan trembles when the midwife nestles the bundle in her arms.

“Meet your brother, Mulan. His name is Ping.”

“Ping,” she says, softly, reverently.  What a tiny thing he is. He looks up at her with his big dark eyes, squinting a little, like she is a puzzle he can't quite figure out.  He’s so small and fragile, she’s scared he might break apart in her arms.  

Then Ping screws up his face and wails. Mulan freezes with panic. “Mama, what did I do?” she asks, as Chen Wei takes the screaming infant from her. “He hates me!”

Fa Li laughs and brushes Mulan's hair away from her tearful face with one hand. “He doesn't hate you, sweet one.  He is still so new to this world he doesn't know how to hate.”

“Then why is he crying?” Mulan asks.

“Remember when I took you with me to the market for the first time?”

Mulan nods uncertainly.

“You were so overwhelmed by all the new people and smells and sounds, you cried and begged to go home.  That is how Ping feels right now.  He just needs time to get used to us.”

“Well, he better hurry up,” Mulan says impatiently, crossing her arms over her chest. “I've waited a long time for him to be born, and I don't want to wait any longer to play with my baby brother.”

“Oh, Mulan,” Fa Li says. “Ping will need to grow up a little before he's ready to play with you.”

“Tell you what,” Grandmother Fa says, bending down to her granddaughter’s level. “How about you become the best big sister you can be, so when Ping is ready to play he’ll have a best friend to do it with?”

Mulan considers the idea. “Okay,” she says, and skips out of the room.

“Oh dear,” Fa Li says with an exhausted chuckle. “I fear we've created a monster.”

Grandmother Fa beams. “Don't worry – it all comes from my side of the family.”

* * *

Mulan is six and Ping is two when their father’s armor and sword are borne home along with a jar full of ashes.  The magnolia trees are in bloom.  Fa Li is overcome by sorrow and withdraws into herself for weeks. Their family is held together by Grandmother Fa.  Many years later Mulan will remember her grandmother’s strength with awe, steady as a mountain for the rest of them to lean on, even as she grieves the loss of her son.

They are told he died a hero, and their family will always be welcome in the Emperor’s court. China has gifted them a warhorse in his memory, a fiery young stallion.  Mulan calls him Khan, for the majestic power with which he carries himself – he reminds her of the princes of faraway lands from the stories her grandmother tells.  Mulan and Ping will learn to ride together upon Khan’s broad back, but the horse will always favor Mulan over her brother.

Mulan, who hardly knew her father before he left for war, does not cry.  Ping grows up with the long face and square jaw of a father he never knew.

Fa Li hangs Fa Zhou’s armor and sword in the wardrobe and never opens it again. Mulan and Ping, curious as they are (for they are children), sneak in to see.  Mulan climbs into the wardrobe, running her small hands over the plates.  The armor smells of blood and black powder, which makes her little nose wrinkle, but she imagines her father riding off to war to fight.  It is a romantic, grandiose story, cast in the soft lens that children look through until they are older, when war and death and other ugly things are thrown into sharper focus.  But that is still some years away for the Fa siblings.

For now, Ping pulls himself in and curls up beside Mulan.  They fall asleep together, breathing in this last reminder of their father.  Grandmother Fa finds them an hour later and shoos them away before their mother can scold them.

Mulan loves being an older sister, and Ping adores her.  He will do most anything she says, and she lets him in on all her best-laid plans.  Mulan has always been a handful, but no one is prepared for the hellions Mulan and Ping become when they are together.  They are constantly scheming to get out of chores, pranking other children in the village, or conning their grandmother into giving them sweets.  They swim naked in the pond, chase the chickens and goats round the temple, and climb the bamboo walls and slate roofs in town to see how far they can get across the town before touching the ground.  On one memorable occasion, they even dress up Khan as a concubine, complete with face paint and their mother’s hair combs.  They are incorrigible, and their mother loves them for it all the same – she only wishes Fa Zhou could be here to see them too.

As they get older, Mulan lets Ping plan things too.  When he is five and given his first chores, he decides that since dogs do not do chores, he will become a dog.  Nine-year-old Mulan is more than happy to fasten a leash around his neck and call him “Little Brother” while he ambles about on hands and knees, barking and nipping at his poor mother’s heels as she hangs the laundry out to dry (and if Mulan attaches chicken feed to him to disperse as he romps through the yard, it is a happy coincidence).

One of their favorite games to play is that of War.

“One day, I shall be a war hero like Father,” Ping boasts one day when he is nine, swinging his short bamboo pole at Mulan.

Mulan sidesteps his blow and slaps the back of his knees with her own play weapon. “You can't even slaughter a chicken,” she says. “How do you expect to kill a man?”

Ping thinks on this a moment. “I will win without spilling a drop of blood, so great is my skill.”

Mulan doubles over with laughter. “You can't win a war without anyone dying, Ping. Otherwise it wouldn't be a war, just a bunch of men marching through the countryside.”

Ping frowns. “That's easy for you to say. You can't go to war.”

“Says who?”

“Says everyone,” Ping says. “You're a girl. Girls can't fight in wars. They're not allowed.”

Mulan throws her pole at him. It misses by a foot, but her fist doesn't.  He claps his hands over his face with an angry howl.

“Just because I can't go to war doesn't mean I can't fight better than you,” Mulan shouts, drawing the attention of their mother. Ping glares at Mulan. Fa Li flies out into the yard, furious, and pries Ping’s hands away.  Mulan sees she has bloodied his nose and feels a swell of satisfaction.

“Children,” Fa Li says in a quelling voice.  “If we are fortunate, neither of you will see a war in your lifetime.  Put away those sticks and come wash up for dinner.  War is not a game.  I never want to see you fighting with each other again.  You are family, and family protects one another, no matter the cost.  Mulan, apologize to Ping.”

“He deserved it,” Mulan mutters stubbornly.

“If you don't, you'll go without supper.”

Mulan gives a long sigh. “Fine. I'm sorry Ping is such a pig’s ass.”

“Mulan!”

She stomps to the room they share, and only regrets her words in the middle of the night when her stomach growls loud enough to wake them both.

“Mulan?  Are you awake?” Ping asks in the darkness.

Mulan’s anger has cooled, but her stubbornness has not. “Go back to sleep, Ping.”

“Fine,” he says, his voice hard. Moments tick by in silence.

Then, “Ping? I'm sorry.”

She hears her brother sigh. “Me too,” he says finally. “I just wish I was better at something than you are.”

“I'm no good at what I'm supposed to be,” Mulan says bitterly. “Pouring tea, calligraphy, music, flower arrangement . . .”

“That stuff’s easy,” Ping scoffs.

“If you’re so smart, maybe _you_ should go to the matchmaker’s house when the time comes,” Mulan says, smiling into the darkness. “You'd make a perfect wife to some mean, wrinkly old man.”

Ping should be outraged, but he only laughs.  “I’d make about as perfect a wife as you would a soldier,” he jokes, and Mulan laughs too.

After that, they still fight.  But they make sure their mother never sees them at it.

* * *

When the courier rides into town, Mulan is certain her family will escape conscription.  So when he cries out, “The Fa family!”, her brother barely takes a step before Mulan pulls him back and dashes forward, shielding him with her body as if she can protect him from this fate.

“Please sir, my brother is only twelve years old –”

“He is a man in the eyes of the law,” says the councilman, his face hard. “Didn't your father ever teach you to hold your tongue in the presence of a man?”

The vitriol that has simmered deep in Mulan’s heart for most of her short life boils to the surface. “My father has already given his life for China. I won't let China take my brother too!”

“Mulan,” Ping says behind her. She half-turns, expecting anger, but his face is resigned, exhausted. He looks far older than twelve. “I have to do this.” He moves past her and takes the conscription notice from the courier’s hand. Mulan wonders when he got so tall.

Later, over the single flickering candle that lights their room, they fight about it. It's how they say _I love you._

“You shouldn't have to go!”

“I have to. You heard the courier.  I'm not going to bring down dishonor on my family just because I'm afraid.”  Ping’s childish bravado resurfaces. “Not that I _am_ afraid.”

“You _should_ be afraid,” Mulan says. “War isn't a game, Ping! You can't just get up once the battle’s done and wash up for dinner.”

“I know that,” Ping says. “I'm not a child anymore, Mulan. Why do you always try to shelter me from the world?”

“Because you're my brother,” she says, brokenly, helplessly. “It’s not fair.”

“Of course it's not fair,” Ping says. “Life isn't fair; you've been telling me that since I was born.”

Mulan reels back like he has struck her -- because it is true.  She has spewed the words with venomous abandon, railing against the shackles society has placed upon her, never realizing that he has always been listening.

“I know my place in the world,” Ping continues. “Maybe it's time you learned yours.  You say war isn't a game, but you like to play it more than I ever did.  You need to grow up, Mulan.  You can't avoid the matchmaker forever.”

She knows he is right, and smiles sadly. “How did you get so wise?”

“Watching my big sister,” he says.

She wishes she could be as sure as he is what the right choice is, but she feels powerless in the face of the conscription notice.  Mulan realizes she is _jealous_ that her brother is accepting a death sentence, because she herself would rather die than continue living her unremarkable life.

The thought alone shames her.

Mulan is sixteen years old the day she takes her brother’s place in the army.  The night before, she cuts off her long hair, black as a river of ink, and shoulders her father’s armor (she has to cinch the straps as tight as they will go).  She remembers what her mother said not so long ago: _War is not a game. You are family, and family protects one another, no matter the cost._

Mulan lingers in the doorframe for one last look at her sleeping brother and remembers him as he was on the day he was born, wrapped in clean linen and gazing up at her four-year-old self with a wisdom that unnerved her.  So fragile and small.  He still is, and so is she. But fragile things often disguise a hidden strength that does not manifest until it is tested – like spiderweb silk or a sister’s resolve.

Mulan memorizes Ping’s face in the moonlight: the strength of his jaw, his first scraggly attempts at a mustache, the way his hair falls over his brow.  She thinks on some of the important things that make him Ping: his deepening voice, the way his eyes light up around fireworks, his impeccable penmanship, his weakness for red tortoise cake, the way he effortlessly picks out such lovely melodies on the _guzheng_ (the one she is supposed to learn to play).  Mulan can’t fathom a world without her brother in it.  She tucks these treasured memories away to revisit when she is alone and missing home.

She rides away on the horse that is her brother’s birthright – for what soldier would gift a warhorse to a daughter? – but chose to favor her instead.

When her commanding officer asks her name, she only hesitates a little before using his. It's easy enough to remember; so often are they together that when one is called they both answer. It motivates her in training, hearing the other recruits call her Ping. It reminds her who she’s fighting for.

She is brave, but not fearless, and what she lacks in skill she makes up for with heart and determination. As training wears on, however, it becomes apparent that even this is not enough.

When she is dismissed from service, Mulan nearly does go home.  She imagines the disappointment in Ping’s eyes and her heart twists painfully.  What if he hates her?  She has stolen his chance to earn their family honor and squandered it.  If she gives up now, every soldier in the Wu Zhong camp will remember the failure of Fa _Ping –_ not Fa Mulan.  She has made a reputation in his name, and she must not leave it worse than it was before.  And so her love for her brother keeps her there.

When she scales the pole in the center of the camp, Mulan hears Ping’s taunting voice in her mind, as clearly as if he is standing at the base of it.  She bites her lip, hard enough to bleed, and steels her resolve.  It must be enough.  To her good fortune (or perhaps just her luck), it is. She is granted another chance to prove her honor – or rather, Ping’s honor.  It is enough.

The battle in the pass proves it can never be enough.

This is not at all how Mulan imagined the reality of war. The scent of blood and black powder that once clung to her father’s armor has long since faded away in favor of cedar shavings and leather oil, now here it is again, pungent enough to bring tears to her eyes . . . or is the the way the smell brings back the memories of Fa Zhou she forgot she had?  She pushes the thought away as she rips the last cannon from Ling’s grasp – she has no time for tears.

When they leave her in the mountains, Mulan considers giving up.  Ping has been right all along: she didn't go to war to save him. She did it to save herself.  But now she brings out those memories she has saved of him and revisits each one in the foreboding silence of the pass.  It gives her the strength to go on.

* * *

She rides into her hometown a different woman than the one who left.  Her brother is in the courtyard, along with her mother and grandmother. She dismounts clumsily, eyes brimming, and stumbles into his arms. Her body shakes with sobs of relief.

“I missed you,” she whispers.

“I missed you more,” he says.

Ping will pretend he is far too old for stories, and when Mulan offers one, he will agree with a carefully constructed expression of disinterested politeness.  His eyes will shine through the telling.

But after the war Ping senses a subtle change in his sister: she is slower to laugh, and her eyes do not hold the light as easily as they once did.

It's not long after that her captain stops by. Ping sees it immediately – Shang already knows Mulan’s true identity.  Ping doesn't know the details, or what happened in the pass – Mulan does not speak of it – but he does know the penalty of Mulan's deception is death, and that she is still alive tells Ping all he needs to know about Shang.

So when Shang offers up a flimsy excuse, Ping sees right through him.

“Mulan! You forgot your helmet,” Captain Li says.  Mulan smiles and takes the helm from him, tucking it under her arm.  She sees his eyes slip from her face, past her.

“Captain, I’d like you to meet my brother,” she says with a spark of her old mischief. “The real Fa Ping.”

Shang does a double take. “A pleasure to meet you, sir,” Ping says with a grin, shaking the captain’s hand. “Mulan's told me all about you.”

Shang can't help but stare, dumbfounded, between the two of them. “Oh . . . she hasn't said anything about you. Well, obviously, I mean, because I thought she was you, and I didn't know she was her, and you . . .” Shang realizes he is babbling and trails off. His face reddens, and he clears his throat to dispel his discomfort.

The siblings share a knowing look. “You probably know a lot more about me than you think,” Ping says. Then, because he is still a twelve-year-old boy, he adds, “Do you have any good stories from the war?  Mulan will only tell me a few. She says they're too violent.”

Shang chuckles. “I've got some you might like.”

Watching Ping and Shang together, Mulan’s heart is full. She can't remember the last time she was so happy.  Before the war, surely.  It gives her hope that one day she can put the battle behind her.

With the reckless surety of a soldier’s split-second decision, Mulan asks, “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

“Would you like to stay forever?” Ping butts in. “I've always wanted a brother!”  Mulan is appalled by his audacity, but she blushes as she feels the burn of Shang’s gaze.  She sees his answer there, and it is definitely not _no_.

“Yes, for dinner,” Shang says. “And . . . we’ll see.”


End file.
